


Umbra

by opagued



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-07 22:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10370706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opagued/pseuds/opagued
Summary: Bucky x Reader: Set between the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Captain America: Civil War, you find yourself growing closer to your new neighbor who is always there to lend you a hand when you need it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Umbră is Romanian for shadow (according to Google translate at least). This is an idea I’ve had brewing for a while. I really hope you guys enjoy this one! This is set in between the events of CA:The Winter Soldier and CA:Civil War. Warning: Any Romanian is via Google translate and is probably wrong in one way or another (so if you are a native speaker or are familiar with the language, sorry!)

**Day One**

_Shit, I knew I should have learned some Romanian_ , you thought to yourself as you weaved through the streets of Bucharest. The directions to your apartment were, of course, in Romanian and navigating through the largest city in Romania was stressful, even if it was incredibly beautiful. Sometimes you found yourself getting distracted by the people around you – commuters on their way to work, vendors on the streets. Giving up your stubbornness to find your apartment by yourself, you stopped at a fruit vendor and asked for directions. You were surprised how well she spoke English and found yourself infatuated with her accent. You thanked her, running (of course it was more hobbling with the bags you were carrying) along the few blocks you had left to go.

You entered the apartment building and swore for the second time that day.

The elevator was under maintenance, instead you were forced to struggle to bring all of your luggage up multiple flights of stairs as you were almost on the top floor of the 20+ story building. Once you got to floor 8, you were already struggling to breath normally and your arms felt like they were made of jello. Multiple bruises covered your legs, you were sure of it, after kicking two suitcases up the stairs violently when you were frustrated. You sat down on one of the steps and let out a deep sigh, groaning into your hands, which you had sunken your face into.

A soft voice behind you startled you, causing you to turn around and look up. He was big, much taller than you but his face was soft and friendly. You could see brown hair almost touching his shoulder peeking out from underneath the blue baseball cap he was wearing. You questioned his choice of clothing – a jacket and gloves – but figured that he wasn’t accustomed to 45 degree weather like you were (you were only wearing a light sweatshirt). He looked timid as he spoke, his blue eyes were dull and lifeless. You wondered when he last had a good night’s sleep.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Romanian,” you said before saying the same in Romanian, “Eu nu vorbesc limba română.” You cringed after it came out of your mouth, realizing how horribly spoken it was, especially compared to the stranger. He only smiled at you, walking down a few steps to where you last kicked your suitcases. He grabbed them both with one swift motion and nodded at you, silently informing you that he was here to help. You didn’t question it – in fact you were grateful that he was happy to help and you nodded your head back at him before turning around and walking up the stairs. You fidgeted with the straps on your backpack, looking back at him every once in a while. He only smiled when he caught you looking back, effortlessly carrying your luggage.

When you made it to your new home for the next two semesters, you swung your backpack off of you, reaching in for the small white envelop that encased your keys. It took you a few tries, but you had managed to unlock the door. You walked into small but fully decorated apartment and made a mental note to yourself that you needed to write a thank you note to your grandparents for offering to hire someone to get furniture together before your arrival. The stranger set your suitcases down near the door and turned around to walk out.

  
“Wait!” you yelled after him, hoping that you weren’t sounding like a crazed person. He turned around and studied you, cocking his head slightly to the side like a puppy would. “Mulțumesc (thank you).” He nodded and you watched him walk out of your apartment and back down the stairs. You wish there was another way you could thank him for carrying your bags, but figured in a place as large as this you probably wouldn’t see him again.

Unpacking your bags took a long time but you were grateful in the end that you got it done in one sitting. You arrived a week before you were set to start your school year, studying abroad at the Carol Davila University of Medicine, which taught in English and Romanian. You had planned to spend this week familiarizing yourself with the city and enjoying your time before it was back to working and studying hard. You had already printed off countless maps of the city and marked all the stops you were to make.

You were starving by the end of it, spending the last four or so hours unpacking and rearranging. You grabbed your purse (which you had neatly hung on a 3M hook by the door, next to various coats) and headed out of the apartment, making your way down the stairs. _At least I’ll stay fit_ , you thought to yourself, sweating by the time you made it to the bottom floor. You didn’t have to go far to find somewhere to buy food before running back to your apartment and making another mental note to buy groceries tomorrow.

Once you were done eating, you walked into the bathroom, figuring a nice hot shower and getting to bed early would be beneficial for your day tomorrow (especially since you were still pretty jet-lagged) which would consist of you walking around and exploring the city. Only, to your slight frustration, the shower didn’t work and you had no ideas on how to fix it. You huffed, crossing your arms together. You wouldn’t be able to put in a maintenance request until the morning, which put a bit of a hinderance on your plan. You briefly contemplated calling your father and asking him to guide you on the phone as to how to fix it, but figured he would be asleep with the 8 hour difference.

You put on your slippers, which you had also set under the hooks you had placed near your door earlier that day and walked across the hallway, gingerly knocking on the door across from yours. Maybe, just maybe, the person who lived here would either a) be nice enough to let you use their shower for the night, or b) have some sort of idea how to fix it. You heard footsteps and waited. The door opened slightly, but not completely all the way. A set of eyes peered out at you from the crack in the door.

Once the door fully swung open, you dropped your jaw. It was him – the same man who had helped you carry your bags into your apartment. What were the chances he lived right across the hall?

“I.. I’m sorry, uh, my shower... it, uh, it isn’t working and you have no idea what I’m saying I’m so sorry,” you rambled at the last part. You were about to turn around and run back into your apartment, leaving this man to his night that you so rudely interrupted before he spoke, causing you to freeze in place at what he said.

“I could take a look at it, if you wanted,” he said, his voice as light and airy as ever. He spoke slowly, almost timidly. It was as if he was afraid, but of what you weren’t sure.

Your mouth worked faster than your brain. “You speak English?” you questioned, practically interrogating him. “Sorry, that was rude.”

He chuckled at this. “It’s okay. Would you like me to look at your shower?” He was still hiding behind his door, a little defensively.

“Only if it’s not a problem for you, I know I’ve bothered you once already today,” you said, looking down at your slippered feet.

“It’s not a problem,” he added, before quickly stepping out of his apartment and closing the door behind him. You peered into his apartment as much as you could subconsciously, and mentally scolded yourself for your rudeness. You led him to your door, for the second time that day. You kicked your slippers off and noticed he was only wearing a pair of dark gray socks. You led him to the bathroom and he walked over to the shower, fiddling with the knobs as you had earlier. He was silent this entire time and you weren’t sure what to say so you stayed silent too. You had only met the man a few hours ago, but you knew already he wasn’t much of a talker.

After five minutes, he got up from his position and absentmindedly stroked his fingers through his hair. “I think I know what the problem is, but I’m going to need some tools. Do you have any?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t. I wouldn’t even trust myself to change a lightbulb, let alone have tools to fix things” you admitted.

He laughed at this, a genuine laugh that made his nose wrinkle. “I have some at my place, I’ll be right back.” He was only gone for a few minutes before returning with a small toolbox. You had moved to the toilet at this time, sitting on the lid with your legs up, head on your knees. He silently got to work, pulling your shower apart. You watched him silently, playing with your hands as he worked. When your shower was fully put back together, you stood up in anticipation as he turned the shower on. Water spouted from the shower head and he turned it off, turning around to face you. You instinctively hugged him, his body stiff and rigid at your touch.

Realizing what you were doing and worried you offended the stranger who was kind enough to help you twice in one day, you quickly pulled back and apologized. “Sorry, I’m a hugger. Thank you so much for fixing it, I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t have taken a hot shower tonight.”

He nodded, picking up his toolbox. “Honestly, it wasn’t a problem.” He began walking to your door and you followed him. Once he reached the door he turned around. “Let me know if you have any lightbulbs that need changing in the future.”

You laughed at his joke, happy to know that he wasn’t too weirded out by the hug. “Y/N,” you offered, realizing that you both had missed that formality earlier.

“John,” he replied.

“Well, thank you John, have a good night.”

 

**Day Twelve**

Friday, finally. Not that your first week at University was stressful by any means, considering like American universities the first week was syllabus week, but you were excited that now that you had made some friends your age, you could go out like a normal college student. You had been invited to bar hop by some of the girls in your classes, who were interested in partying with an American girl. You knew you were going to disappoint them slightly, since you weren’t wild like the stereotypical American party girl, but you were mostly just excited to have friends who invited you to hang out with them.

You trudged up the stairs, the elevator still ‘under maintenance’. You wondered how long it would be before you could make it to and from your apartment without breaking a sweat. You threw your backpack on the floor and swapped for your purse, making sure to grab your wallet from your backpack and put it in your purse. You walked back down the stairs, hopping down easily from step to step. This part you didn’t mind so much, it was the walking up them that sucked.

You walked out the front door of your apartment building, quickly turning the corner. About 5 minutes later, you noticed a familiar figure and called out after him. He didn’t stop or turn around. You caught up with him, repeating his name once again before he realized you were talking to him.

“Oh.. hello,” he said, almost as if you had surprised him.

“Either your name isn’t John, or I did something to piss you off,” you joked with him.

He didn’t replied and you worried that you had actually offended him in some way. You knew you could be pretty blunt, but other than the few waves and hellos when you passed each other in the hallway, you hadn’t spoken to him since the first night. You had been meaning to find some way to repay him for helping you, but your first couple of weeks had been hectic so far. You both walked in silence for a while, not looking at each other.

When you reached a crosswalk where you had to wait, you took a second to peer up at him. He must have had the same idea, because right as you looked at him he was looking down at you. “Did I do something to make you upset?” you asked him quietly.

His face changed, going from hardened and almost unreadable back to the soft face you recognized that first time he spoke to you. His shoulders slouched a little and he dropped his stiff stance. “No,” he replied after what seemed like hours to you. “I just, don’t.. socialize.. very well,” he chose his words carefully.

“Sorry, I can over-socialize,” you commented, feeling bad that yet again you had put him in an uncomfortable position. “If I’m being too annoying, feel free to let me know.”

The crosswalk sign changed again and you both began walking. He shook his head no. “You’re not. You’re just the first person I’ve really interacted with since moving here.”

You were happy you hadn’t done anything to annoy him (yet). “How long have you been here John?” you asked him.

He sighed. “My name’s not John, it’s James. But, my friends call me Bucky,” he explained. He didn’t add that he really didn’t have any friends who could call him Bucky. You couldn’t tell this from his outward appearance, but mentally he was scolding himself, wishing that he would have just told you the truth the first night he met you. You weren’t a threat, you were just a polite girl. The first person to treat him, well, like a person since.. everything happened. He didn’t know how to react to you. Everyone else just ignored him. He waited for your response, figuring you would be disgusted with him for lying to you.

You both stopped at another crosswalk. “How long have you been in Bucharest, Bucky?” you repeated your earlier question.

“Just a few months,” he replied, internally breathing a sigh of relief.

He watched as you nodded, turning back to face the street. You both walked in silence again, Bucky instinctively hovering closer to you whenever there was a large crowd or cars close by. After three crosswalks, Bucky asked you a question. “What brings you to Bucharest Y/N?”

You told him how you were taking a year abroad, studying at the Carol Davila University of Medicine. You wanted to be a doctor and travel the world, helping those who were less fortunate than you. Generations of your family were medical professionals, so it was just expected of you after your older brother shocked your parents by going to college to become a teacher. You rambled on for a couple of blocks and Bucky found himself captivated by your voice and the passion when you spoke about helping people.

“In the long run, I’ll probably only get to travel for a year or so and just end up practicing family medicine like my mom,” you admitted. You looked around and realized that you had followed Bucky all the way to one of the markets. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to follow you, I just get distracted when I get talking. I was actually heading to the shops,” you admitted to him.

“No apology necessary,” he assured you.

“Well, see ya around Bucky!” you waved at him, walking back to the direction of some boutiques. You didn’t see him waved back, you had already turned around and started walking away.

 

**Day Fifty Seven**

Thank god the elevator was finally working. After a long night out at the clubs, your feet were incredibly sore. You kicked off your high heels, holding them in your hands as the elevator shakily brought you up. You hated using it even after they fixed it because it scared you, sometimes you would hear a screeching noise or it would rattle.You chanced it tonight, figuring you probably wouldn’t make it up the stairs on your own.

The elevator dinged and you walked out onto your floor, tiptoeing quietly. You fumbled with the lock on your door, cursing quietly when it stuck a little. You ended up having to kick your door for it to open. You didn’t know if it was because you were a little drunk or if your door was messed up. _I’ll deal with it tomorrow if need be_ , you thought to yourself. You walked to your room, undressing as you did. You unhooked your bra, grabbing a lacy bralette to sleep in instead. You tucked yourself into bed and let yourself drift into sleep.

You never fully fell asleep however, as a loud thumping noise disturbed your peacefulness. You were instantly on high alert, fearing the worst. You hid yourself under the covers a little more, hardly breathing. You heard the thump again. It was closer to you this time. You stopped breathing entirely as the door to your room opened. In walked a tall, shadowy figure, the heavy smell of alcohol accompanying him. He walked over to you and you didn’t move a muscle, you were in too much shock. You wanted to scream, to kick, to bite but you couldn’t. You couldn’t even breathe.

It wasn’t until he grabbed you that you screamed. You somehow made you way out of his grasp, running as fast as your legs would carry you to the front door. He was hot on your heels, catching you before you could make the door. Your body slammed down hard on the carpeted floor, his rough hand covering your mouth. You bit him and he slapped you hard, almost knocking you out. His hands were on your neck now. “Remember me pretty?” he said with a thick accent.

You couldn’t fight much longer, the whole world was turning black. You thought you heard a faint crash, but it was probably a figment of your imagination. It wasn’t until the man’s grip had loosened and finally was gone that you realized the crashing sound was real. You also hadn’t realized Bucky was in your apartment until he sat you up. He was talking to you but you couldn’t hear him. You were simply staring at the man laying dead on the floor of your apartment, his neck snapped. You recognized him. He asked you to dance at the club, offering you a drink but you had turned him down. It happened a lot – for some reason because you weren’t from here, you attracted a lot of male attention. He must have followed you home.

Finally turning to Bucky, you watched his lips move and wondered why you couldn’t hear any sound. He was still holding you up, his arm was cold against your back. His other hand was on your face, gently assessing the damage from the slap. You reached up to him, touching his lips with your fingertips and they stopped moving. “Bucky,” you whispered hoarsely, the previous hands around your throat making it hard for you to speak.

You looked back at the man on the floor and began to sob. Bucky grabbed the underside of your legs and pulled you on top of his lap. You cried into his chest now, realizing that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, only a pair of light grey sweatpants. “I.. can’t.. be.. here..” you managed to get out in between sobs. Bucky, miraculously understanding what you meant, lifted you up and carried you to his apartment. You were still snug to his chest, gripping onto him tightly. You wouldn’t let him go when he returned to his apartment, so while still holding you, he shut off the lamp that was on and walked you over to his bed, which was just a mattress on the floor. He propped his pillow up, sitting up while adjusting your body so that you were laying in the bed on top of him.

He held you in the dark while you sobbed yourself to sleep, gently running his fingers through your hair until he was sure you were completely out. When you finally did fall asleep, he was careful not to wake you as he positioned you on the bed and off of him. He quickly made his way back to your apartment, hoping, wishing, praying that you wouldn’t wake up before he got back. He disposed of the body in your living room and came back to grab one of your pillows and a few of your blankets. When he got back into his apartment, he was happy to see you were still asleep. Through the light of the window above the mattress, he could see gray streaks of mascara had made trails down your face and you had wrapped yourself around his sheets. He put your pillow next to you, since you were still using his, and covered you up with the blankets he grabbed from your place.

He sat on the floor next to the mattress. He was absolutely livid. He wanted to scream, to fight, to hurt someone. How could he, that man who broke into your apartment, hurt someone as small and sweet as you. Bucky clenched his teeth together in frustration. You didn’t deserve any of this. The only thing stopping him from going on the streets and doing something regrettable was you, sleeping on his mattress.

 

**Day Fifty Eight**

You woke up screaming a few hours later and Bucky was there, telling you it was okay and that you were safe. You tried to crawl on his lap but he stopped you, instead opting to lay on his bed with you so you could fall back asleep. He was grateful that you quickly fell asleep again. He gently got off the bed again, trying to respect the sleeping girl in his apartment.

When you woke up for the final time that morning, Bucky was in his kitchen cooking. He had put a long sleeve shirt on and was wearing a thin, black glove on his left hand. You wondered why he was trying to hide it, you had already seen it last night. Now it suddenly made sense though, all those times you had seen him overdressed for the weather. Bucky noticed you were awake and smiled at you. You took this time to sit yourself up and check out his apartment.

It was smaller than yours. Basic. He didn’t have much furniture. You figured it was just a dude thing. You sat up slowly, rubbing your face a little. You lip was swollen and when you pulled your hands away they were covered in little black and gray flecks. “Bathroom?” you asked him hoarsely.

He pointed and you got up off the mattress, realizing you were still in your bralette and panties. Your face flushed red and you quickly ran to the bathroom. You turned on the light and gasped. Black and blue bruises lined your neck and your face had a green-yellow bruise on it. There was dried blood on your lip, which you carefully rinsed off. You also took one of his washcloths and wet it, cleaning off the makeup on your face that was astray.

Bucky lightly knocked on the bathroom door and you jumped and shrieked. He apologized a million times before telling you that he was leaving some of his clothes at the door. When you heard his feet walk away, you cracked the door open and stuck your arm out, grabbing the clothes he had left for you. It was another one of those long sleeve shirts he always wore, along with some dark gray joggers. They were huge on you, but you didn’t mind. They smelled like him and you felt your heart, that was previously beating two hundred miles a minute, slow down to a normal pace.

You creeped out of his bathroom. He was putting two platefuls of food at his little kitchen table. When he saw you, he motioned for you to sit down and you did just that, watching as he went to the fridge to pour two glasses of milk. He placed them down on the table and sat down beside you, starting to eat. You ate slowly ate too, the both of you sitting in silence. When he was done, he waited for you to finish you food before taking both of your plates and glasses to the sink. You stayed at the table while he washed the dishes, noticing that he barely had any when he went to put them away. Bucky sat back down at the table when he was done.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, your voice becoming stronger each time you spoke. He only nodded, too afraid to speak. His hands were resting on the table, his glove damp from washing the dishes. You slowly reached your hands to his, giving him every opportunity to pull away from your touch. He didn’t though, and you grabbed his gloved hand in yours. He stiffened in his seat and it took him every effort not to pull away from you, but he didn’t. He watched you curiously as you grabbed the edge of the glove, looking up at him and asking his permission. He nodded and you pulled the glove away, a cold metal hand meeting your eyes.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” you whispered to him. Bucky bit his tongue hearing you say this. He simply watched as you examined his hand, running your fingertips over it. He bet they felt wonderful and he wished you would run them along his skin. He watched you trace the lines of the plates, your face soft and curious like his. He knew there were a million questions you wanted to ask him, but you weren’t going to be rude. He didn’t know what to think – you weren’t afraid of him, which is what he was expecting.

When you stopped touching his hand, you got up from your chair and walked over to the window. The city was already moving and bustling for the day. You turned around at Bucky, who was still sitting at the kitchen table, examining you. “Is he...,” you started.

“He’s gone,” Bucky finished your sentence for you.

“If you hadn’t shown up, he would have.. he would have killed me,” you choked out. Tears stung at your eyes and threatened to spill out.

Bucky stood up quickly, making his way to where you were standing. He felt the urge to comfort you and knew that was best done by physical touch. That’s what you responded to the best. After all, you told him you were a hugger the first day you met him. He wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you in tightly. You rested the side of your cheek on his chest, closing your eyes and allowing him to envelop you.

 

**Day One Hundred Twelve**

It was your birthday. Your friends from school begged you to go out with them, but you had other plans. Bucky had timidly asked you to dinner to celebrate, which you were thrilled to say yes to. You were with each other all the time after that night, frequently having Bucky sleep over (even though you weren’t sure he really slept that much) or going over to his place to sleep. Sleeping alone in your apartment was too hard right away and Bucky was more than happy to protect you. You also accompanied each other anytime the other went out, to the market, shopping, or whatever else. The only time you weren’t by Bucky’s side was during the school day when you had class. He even would walk you to and from university, knowing you were too stubborn to ask him to.

You knocked on his door. He opened it almost right after. He wasn’t wearing a baseball cap this time, like the previous times you would leave the apartment. He had shaved and his hair was smoothed back a little. You could tell he was trying his best to look nice for you birthday even though the little bit of change he made was him stepping way out of his comfort zone. You pulled him into a big hug. He wrapped his arms around your waist, enjoying the smell of your hair.

“You ready to go?” he asked you.

You pulled away and he lifted you up, bridal style, carrying you down the stairs. He wasn’t going to make you walk on your birthday and he knew you hated the elevator. You laughed at him, but you thought it was sweet and decided not to tease him about it like you normally would. Bucky set you back down when you hit the bottom of the stairs and you wrapped your arm in his, clutching onto him as he led you to your mystery dinner.

After dinner, Bucky led you through the streets of Bucharest. It was late and you had no idea where he was taking you. “It’s a surprise,” he kept saying. You gripped onto his arm tightly as he led you through the crowd. This was a side of the city you hardly ever ventured to, as you had no need. Bucky eventually brought you to an unfamiliar building where you took the elevator (that didn’t rattle by the way), to the top floor. Bucky led you to a flight of stairs where you climbed up and up until you made it to a door.

He told you to close your eyes and you did. Pushing open the door, Bucky grabbed your hands and led you out. You could feel a light breeze on your face and knew immediately that you were outside. “Bucky where are we?” you asked him. He didn’t respond, still leading you somewhere. Once he stopped you, he leaned into you and told you to open your eyes.

You gasped when you did. You were on the roof of a building, and you could see practically the whole city. It was breathtakingly beautiful. “Bucky,” you whispered. You turned to face him. “Thank you. This has been a magical birthday.”

He leaned in, slowly. Too slow. You met his lips quickly, wrapping yourself around him as you kissed him. He was shy at first, but after a few seconds it was like a spark ignited and he kissed you back with an intensity you wouldn’t have expected from him. His hand found the back of your head and you hoped he would never let go of you. When the kiss was finally broken, he pulled you into his chest, stroking your hair the way he knew you liked.

You both stayed on the rooftop, talking about life and other things until you could barely keep your eyes open. Bucky finally convinced you to go home before he had to carry you the whole way back, even though he ended up supporting most of your body weight on the walk home.

 

**Day Two Hundred Thirty Seven**

“Not my Bucky,” you whispered.

You watched in shock and horror as the TV news anchor explained the happening of todays events. Not like it took much deducing, since by the time you got back to your apartment, Bucky’s apartment was destroyed and there were cops everywhere. Nobody had asked you any questions yet and you wondered if they would. Not many people knew that you and Bucky were close except for your few close friends at University.

You couldn’t hold back the tears much longer, watching the woman blatantly blame Bucky – your Bucky, for a horrible crime that you knew he couldn’t have committed. He was with you during that bombing. He couldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have. Not your sweet, gentle Bucky.

You shut off the TV and ran to your room. You sobbed as soon as you hit the bed. You didn’t know what to think. Could Bucky have really killed all those people in the past like the woman said he had. _The Winter Soldier_ , she called him. You recalled that night he killed an intruder in your apartment.

 _But that was different_ , you thought. You couldn’t believe it, you refused. The Bucky you knew wasn’t like that.

You eventually fell asleep, waking up sometime later in the evening. You stared at the ceiling for a while before finally deciding to get up. It was then that you saw a note on your bedside table.

 

**Hours Earlier**

Bucky ran to his apartment building. He ran up the flight of stairs so quickly it was a miracle he didn’t trip. He went into your apartment first, using the spare key you had given him, and walked directly to your room. Tearing a piece of notebook paper out of one of your binders, he wrote you a note he hoped he never would have to.

 

_Y/N,_

_There’s a hidden panel at the back of your closet. Inside is a black backpack. Use it’s contents however you need it._

_I can’t tell you how sorry I am for dragging you into my life. All I can tell you is, everything I felt for you was real. You helped make me whole again and I’ll never be able to repay you enough for that._

_I hope you don’t believe everything you hear on the news._

_I love you,_

_Bucky._

 

Bucky dropped the note where you would find it and took a deep breath, ready to face what was to come in his apartment.

 

**Day Two Hundred Thirty Eight**

You snuck into Bucky’s apartment, absentmindedly playing with the necklace you had found in the black backpack. The police had taped off the apartment but you didn’t care. You were quiet and quick as you grabbed one of his shirts, quietly hopping back to your apartment.

You slept with his shirt that night.

 

**Day Two Hundred Thirty Nine**

He had escaped.

With the help of his friend, Captain America, he had escaped.

You knew what you had to do.

Standing in line at the airport (the one that wasn’t destroyed), you wondered what would happen if anyone were to catch you with all the cash in your backpack. Bucky had left you so much money you wondered if he had stole it (even though you were sure the answer to that question was one you wouldn’t like).

You boarded the plane headed towards New York and didn’t look back.


End file.
